


You've Come To The Wrong Forest...

by Freakshow_Ghuleh



Category: Avatar (Sweden Band), Avatar (Swedish Band), Ghost (Sweden Band), the band ghost
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood Kink, Bukkake, Community: horror_slash, Dark Comedy, Dark Magic, Demons, Disturbing Themes, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Mating Bites, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Parallel Universes, Restraints, Rituals, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freakshow_Ghuleh/pseuds/Freakshow_Ghuleh
Summary: "Are you sacred of what you might like?Are you scared you'll get out alive?"A twisted interpretation of dark fairy tales and metal fandom fusion: Set in an alternate universe, Henrik finds himself stranded in dark, unknown woods after a car accident. Strange getaways beckon as he encounters two strange creatures who have greater plans in store for the young bassist....





	1. Chapter 1

_Are you scared of what you might like?_  
_Are you scared you'll get out alive?_  
_Hear the wind blow and church bells chime,_  
_Hear the mob that awaits outside._  
_Shame on you who dared survive!_  
_You shall pay...._  
_The dead will rise!_

* * * *

_Part 1: Into The Wolf’s Lair…_

Henrik was terribly lost. The battery on his phone was nearly drained to nothing and he'd been without reception for kilometers since the crash. His bike was abandoned somewhere beyond the dead zone, the frame bent and its front tire missing, and the anonymous driver who hit him had sped off without a word.

His injuries were minor, nothing more than scraped palms and a quick temper. With no bearings or a map to guide him, Henrik would soon be too lost to find his way home, and dusk was rolling in like a lurking shadow.

“Fuck this. Fuck this phone. Fuck my life!” The young bassist wanted to scream, but instead mumbled it to the cool breeze. He brushed a curl of auburn away from his pale face, weary blue eyes scrutinizing the flashing red battery guage on the device’s screen as it dimmed to indicate its approaching demise. 

The light was fading steadily, darkness encroaching upon a wooded path riddled with snaring roots and jagged rocks. He shoved the glorified paperweight into the pocket of his bright scarlet hoodie and pressed onward. 

The woods became more dense as he traversed the thorny brush, looking ahead and behind him as he swore he saw strange figures creeping just outside his periphery. It was getting cold, the chill creeping through his red jacket, and his hands stung as an icy wind hissed through the branches and against his skin.

“There's no place like home, no place like- ” He whined, searching desperately for a gap in the trees, the slightest indication of escape before the light died. Before he became panicked enough to click his sneaker-clad heels together, there was a sharp snap of a branch and the rustling of leaves behind him, and then a sudden, foreign rush of air as something lurched along the path directly behind him.

He whirled around with a choked scream, but found nothing. Looking to the forest floor, he saw that there was no trace of an animal, at least not any evidence of the size creature he'd heard just now.

He turned again and stopped dead in his tracks, finding it unusual to see a peculiar little playground set in this remote little pocket of the forest. It appeared to have been abandoned for several decades, many years of rust and graffiti erroding the metal equipment, the paint chipping from the dilapidated statues of once friendly looking characters, now sinister and threatening... One of the swings was currently occupied, and Henrik’s first instinct was to run when a pair of icy blue eyes instantly froze him to the soil...

His painted black grin was wide with teeth that seemed too big for his mouth. He reminded Henrik of some kind of spider, rusty chains creaking as he swung freakishly long legs to and fro. Without warning, he sprung from his seat. He wore something that looked reminiscent of a military uniform, his tailcoat black and bedazzled with brass buttons. The dandy white frills of his once prim dress shirt were splattered in the dark red of dried blood, but he removed his hat and bowed his head like a gentleman all the same, a curtain of inky hair spilling over his shoulders as he did so.

“Good evening, stranger. My name is Johannes!” His grin faltered momentarily, upper lip curling into a sinister sneer “Tell me… What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“Uh, er- Excuse me, but… Do you possibly know how I can get back to the main road?” Henrik asked the spindly Clown, who was leering at him with that Cheshire grin. He briefly wondered how hard he'd hit his head in the impact, but his puzzlement was quickly turning to fear as he realized how tall this strange man was as he approached, closing the space between them in a few long strides.

“I- I don't want any trouble. I just thought you might be able to direct me to the nearest exit…” Henrik stammered, peering up anxiously at this dapper freak in the middle of these deep, dark woods. Perhaps it had been a mistake to go riding so late. 

“Oh, Henrik! Leaving us so soon?” The painted man named Johannes purred, tilting his head to the side as he studied the young bassist intently. He circled him slowly, as he were judging him like a blue ribbon bitch at the dog show. Henrik thought he felt him lean down to smell his hair before the tone of his voice changed drastically. “What, you think you're too good for us?”

“N-No! But… But how did you… know my name? ” Henrik gasped in disbelief while simultaneously swatting a hand from his hair. A growl resonated from the stranger's throat, low and almost reptilian. He felt his heart began to race upon offending his psychotic new companion, quickly thinking of the canister of mace he kept in his back pocket.Henrik knew it would come in handy someday. He held up a trembling hand in surrender while the other slowly reached for the weapon. 

“Look, man… I just want to go home, okay?” Just take my wallet or whatever, but please... Don't hurt me.”

The clown tipped his head back and roared laughter, the flutter of feathers resounding through the forest canopy as birds fled the scene in fear. The monster’s teeth were very white and very dangerous, and he seemed obscenely amused by the sight of the weary traveler, leaves tangled in the thick waves of auburn hair that hung in tangles around Hebrik’s handsome face, shivering in his red jogging jacket before him. 

_“This is like something out of some fucked up fairy tale…”_ Henrik heard himself murmur aloud.

“Have somewhere better to be, friend?” Johannes hissed, circling the man faster like a wolf circling wounded prey. “Are we late for a very important date?” He was behind him then, and Henrik yelped in surprise as something strange and forked flicked lewdly against the back of his neck. “You taste nice...Off to have an illicit affair, perhaps?”

Henrik narrowed his eyes, tired of being intimidated by some deranged community theater drop out dwelling in the darkest pit of the forest. He thrust his elbow back and jabbed the clown faced maniac in the ribs as hard as he could, then a kick behind him into the gut for good measure! He heard something crunch loudly like a twig and assumed it was a bone breaking. Good riddance to bad trash, or so the human thought...

“Back the fuck off, asshole!” Henrik growled, grabbing the mace as he turned to the clown doubled over in pain. Henrik took a step back, wondering what sort of psychadelic shitshow he'd stumbled into when a snide chuckle stopped him in his tracks. 

Johannes stood upright with his head held high, completely unfazed by a blow that should have kept him down for a while longer. He lifted his arms and stretched, and whatever bone that Henrik had successfully broken audibly snapped back into place. The clown sighed and shook his head, clucking his tongue in grave disappointment. 

“Oh, silly Henrik. So you want to play? Let's play, Little Red…” The clown sneered, his painted black grimace growing wider and wider. The intensity of his unblinking, glowing eyes nearly pinned Henrik to the ground with fear and he lunged at the man like a snake striking its prey.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, FUCK!”

Blindly and on the edge of hysteria, Henrik held the pepper spray at arms length, his thumb fumbling for the trigger before the burning cloud shot directly into his would-be assailant’s eyes. 

The clown immediately dropped to his knees, a horrible hybrid screech lost somewhere between man and beast ripping from his throat. He clawed furiously at his face with his long, white hands teeth bared in infuriated agony.

“You sneaky… underhanded little _BASTARD_!” The clown roared,hunching over as he wailed hysterically. All Henrik could see of him was the top of his hat, the scraggly black hair spilling over his broad, epaulette adorned shoulders, which shuddered violently as he held his face. For a moment, Henrik could have sworn the psycho was actually crying, possibly regretting his poor life choices. 

“Wh-why would you do that?! Oh, it hurts so terribly!”

Henrik took this moment to start creeping away, far from this rusty little playground in the middle of the forest and the fuck out of Dodge. However, like many tales of horror, this protagonist felt an almost smug certainty in thinking that his fight for escape was already over, and he was thrown hard onto the forest floor before he could realize it even happened.

“You dumb motherfucker. You think that shit works on me?” 

The clown peered down at him with his ridiculously wide grin and sharp teeth, swaying back and forth like an excitable child. His eyes were clear and bright, and he was pissed off. Henrik whimpered and slowly lifted his hands in surrender. 

“Dude, please-" Henrik gasped, and a booted foot came down against his chest, pinning him against the dirt. “I… It was an accident! I wouldn't even be here if I hadn't been hit by a fucking car!”

“Awe...” The macabre clown pouted in mock empathy, wiping away mock tears. “Poor dear has had quite the day!” He paused. Hey, I've always wondered…” He leaned down quickly, his inky hair now lightly brushing his victim's face. “How much can a guy take at once before he completely loses his fucking mind?”

He burst out laughing, like it was just the funniest goddamn thing. Henrik stared at him blankly, immobilized by the boot pinning him down and the uncertainty of how gruesomely he would die.

“No… Please don't kill me! Look, you don't have to do this!” Henrik begged, hoping he could somehow negotiate with a homicidal mutant clad in frills and clown paint. 

“ _”You don't have to do this_ ” The creature parroted in sing-song, then his voice was a deep snarl. “No SHIT!”

Henrik felt a hand in his hair, spindly fingers dancing like spider legs over his scalp before he grabbed a large tuft and began dragging him across the rough terrain. 

“My, such lustrous hair you have, Little Red...” The clown giggled menacingly. He walked with a spring in his step, coat tails swinging jauntily. He reminded Henrik of a goofy kid capturing his first firefly before tearing its wings off.

Henrik stared up into the twilight and couldn't help but ponder his query: How long would it take for him to lose his mind entirely before the would-be murderer finished him off? He could have sworn he heard hushed whispers and the tinkling sound of carnival music drifting from further ahead. 

“This isn't happening…” He moaned as they went even deeper into the darkened woods, the sun completely extinguished from the sky now. He thought he saw a faint light, a flickering orange glow that washed the gnarled tree trunks in red. Their destination grew close. 

“Maybe it's all a dream, Henrik…” The clown hissed. “Maybe you're alway dead, lying in a ditch with cute little rats feasting on your entrails!” He trilled the ‘R’ in ‘Rats’ and Henrik vaguely recalled the last song he was listening until he saw the headlights barreling towards him, then he'd come here... 

“ _Fuck me sideways...._ ” Henrik murmured, wondering if this gangly, painted creature with his supernatural speed and strength was correct. Perhaps this was Hell, personally tailored just for him.

“Is that an invitation?” He heard the clown coo slyly, his eyes snapping up to glare daggers at Johannes leering at him from over a bony shoulder. 

“It was a statement of incredulity, you psycho fuckwit!” Henrik cried, grabbing helplessly at the spindly, white fingers snared in his hair with an iron grip. “This isn't happening…”

The light grew until he saw lanterns hanging from the twisting tree branches, creating a path to guide them deeper into the unknown. As his eyes focused in the warm gloom, he realized they were actually an omen, a warning to would-be trespassers like himself: Fire burned through the empty eye and nose sockets of human skulls, the tops of their craniums removed for the lovely brass hooks to display them with pride. 

“ _This isn't fucking happening!_ ” Henrik croaked.

“Ooh, yeah. You're a bit of a whiny bitch, aren't you?” The murderous clown chuckled. 

Henrik had expected something less refined for a serial killer luring his victims deep into the forest, perhaps a shack or a run down trailer, something more appropriate to the inbred mutants in ‘The Hills Have Eyes”, but the museum of macabre art that made this creature’s home was almost whimsical. Like the festive lanterns, he seemed to utilize his victims in the most artful manner:

The clown thing let him go and Henrik winced, but didn't flee as he stared at a quaint little cottage, decorated entirely in accents of human bone and cartilege, some strung on glittering Christmas lights. Henrik could have sworn he was tripping, and began to laugh for no reason. 

“Aww, that's cute... You're already snapping!” Johannes exclaimed happily, clapping his hands together like a giddy schoolgirl. “Come ‘ere, you little scamp!”

Henrik was still laughing when the clown tugged him to his feet by the arm, until the point where he tried landing an uppercut on the creature's square jaw. Jonannes merely tilted his head back and Henrik’s fist passed harmlessly beneath his chin, and his grin grew even wider.

“I like you…” The clown whispered, and then Henrik saw only black.

****

Henrik’s head was pounding when he came to, blearily opening his eyes to a strange room dimly cast in the technicolor glow of more Christmas lights evenly strung along the perimeter. He groaned and went to rub the grain from his eyes, only to find his arms were immobilized. He twisted his neck to see the torn remnants of his scarlet red jacket binding his wrists to a headboard painstakingly constructed from human tibias, fibulas and various tarsel bones. He quickly became aware of the sound of jazz and power tools drifting from the other room.

“... _The fuck is this?_ Henrik whimpered as he began to struggle, but his bonds were tightly secured and the headboard of bones was very sturdy. As he relented, a head poked around the corner of the doorframe. 

Henrik’s eyes widened as he recognized the madman who had abducted him, that long, white face now partially hidden behind a surgeon’s mask. He reminded the frightened musician of a ghostly entity as he seemed to glide into the room, clad in a bloody butcher's apron and wielding an electric drill. He was smiling beneath the mask, also speckled in the remnants of a fresh kill.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead.” Johannes sang, and Henrik had to admit he had a pleasant baritone until he ran the drill for a second, the sharp metal bit whirring dangerously. His heart was already thundering as the clown approached his bedside. “Sorry about the mess! I was just… scrapbooking!”

Henrik saw through the obvious lie and fearfully into the sparkling blue eyes of his gracious host and murderer-to-be. His jet black hair was a wild mess around his broad shoulders, the deathly white flesh of his bare arms marred with old scars. His sinewy limbs seemed far too long for a normal human, and he'd had to duck slightly just to enter the room.

“What.... Who the fuck are you? Wh- Why are you doing this?” Henrik knew his pleas wouldn't work on this psycho in lieu of Arts and Crafts, and he was too strong, too fast...

“I am the last of my kind, dear Henrik, you nosey little shit…” Johannes replied, sidling closer to the bed while the bassist recoiled instinctively. He still held the drill like he intended to use it, watching his victim squirm with great enjoyment. “I am guardian to these woods, took a solemn oath to protect Her... and I don't take kindly to those lesser creatures who would threaten Her life, ravage her roots, and destroy Her children…”

“P-Please, I'm nothing like them!” Henrik wailed defensively. “I just…. I'll do anything you ask… Just don't eat me or whatever…” 

The clown snorted derisively. “Don't be such a drama queen! I'm a _vegan_ , for fuck’s sake.” He set the drill down on a dresser against the opposite wall, cheerily decorated with a lace doilie and colorful frames depicting gruesome murders. 

“Uh-huh… That's really great.” Henrik whimpered. Inside his mind, he was screaming bloody murder and smashing windows, a fleeting fantasy of beating the stupid clown to death with his own fucked up art projects, anything to willfully distract himself from the fear and scraps of his favorite jacket paralyzing him to the bed. 

He glanced at the clown nervously, then back to the drill, but on the bright side, at least he was nice to animals!

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, here's the thing…” Johannes cooed, slowly slinking onto the mattress beside Henrik, who flinched visibly. “There's still a toll, my dear, one that must be paid in blood…” He paused, giving Henrik a long, scrutinous once over before the bassist followed his gaze and realized the rest of his clothing was gone. 

“Unless… you are willing to part with something else.”

Henrik’s mind went in a thousand directions with that statement, wondering if he'd be losing more than just a kidney or an eyeball for a coffee table centerpiece. Something far more personal would have to appease the old gods of the forest, and the bills were past due.

“Look… I don't know what else you could want, but _please_ don't cut anything off!”

Johannes was idly running those spindly white pianist’s fingers up and down Henrik’s right arm, along the elaborate sleeve of colorful ink delicately etched into the mortal’s flesh. He seemed most enthralled, touching the tattooed strings of a bass guitar nestled amidst roses on Henrik’s forearm. Henrik felt a hand slide over his, and his breath caught in his throat as he felt the creature leering at him with much darker intentions. 

“I'm sure we can work something out…” Johannes purred, leaning closer until Henrik could feel his breath like an icy chill against his cheek. The clown slowly pulled the bloody surgeon’s mask away from his mouth and Henrik’s eyes widened as he felt something long and wet glide across his jawline, the tongue cold and forked at the end.

“W-Wait a minute…” Henrik gasped, realizing he was careening towards a trainwreck and that there was no escape. He tensed, feeling the clown’s very large teeth brush teasingly against his neck. “This is- Uh, you're very interesting and creepy and everything, but I _really_ don't know you very well and I've never-"

“Never what, never been fucked by the things that go bump in the night?” Johannes growled, nipping lightly at Henrik’s jugular pulsing rapidly as his heart thrummed in his chest.

‘Well, when you put it that way…”

Henrik barely felt the strange man’s weight as he climbed on top of him, so graceful and so predatory, those inhumanely long legs straddling his like a bony steel trap. Henrik bit his lip tentatively, terrified that in his coerced willingness to relinquish his body, the depraved son of a bitch would skin him alive for the fun of it, anyway. 

“Oh, I do like you, dear Henrik. You are _quite_ different from the rest of them...” He went back to the human’s tattoo, tracing his fingers over the intricate designs engraved in ink. “Besides, you wouldn't believe the smell involved when it comes to tanning a human hide.”

“Oh, yeah… For sure.” Henrik replied meekly, nodding his head as if he understood. His mind was reeling, and yet he couldn't help but notice how the glittering lights shone off the sharp features of Johannes’ face, the deceptively cheery colors dancing across the sculpted curves of his cheekbones and down the straight line of his nose. He was honestly quite handsome beneath the inky black and scarlet clown paint, and Henrik felt his body acting accordingly as he regarded the tall creature hovering above him.

“Jesus…” Henrik growled at himself, cheeks burning as he turned his head away in shame. He felt a cool hand against his cheek, long fingers curling under his chin to gently turn his face back to look up at the clown again. 

“Jesus has nothing to do with it…” Johannes growled, and then he lowered his gaze to Henrik’s growing arousal and smiled ever-so- wickedly. “Hulle-fucking-lujah, darling...”

Henrik opened his mouth to speak and the hand that had shown him such tenderness went straight to his throat. He whimpered against the clown’s lips as they collided with his, hungry and bruising. The gentle constriction around hiis throat tightened ever so slightly, and Henrik quickly realized this was turning him on somehow.

“This is too fucked...!” Henrik howled against the clown’s eager mouth, but the last few hours had been a surrealist blur and he couldn't decipher between fact or fiction. Perhaps the alluring bastard was right and he was already dead, a victim of a tragic accident, and just making the best of his eternal damnation as he could. Then again, maybe this was his chance to escape and return to some sense of normalcy…

Henrik could feel himself giving in, returning the twisted affections with his tongue sliding cautiously across the creature's bared teeth. If Johannes truly had wanted him dead, he’d be cut into tidy little pieces already, but instead, he was savoring him first. 

“I guess I wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers…” Henrik mused, eyelids fluttering as he felt the silky strands of raven hair brush against his face. Johannes reared back, shedding his butcher’s apron and the tight black and gold accented trousers he'd worn before knocking the bassist unconscious earlier. Henrik had to admit this man was utterly fascinating, beautiful in the way exotic predators or carnivorous flowers were. Johannes was all limbs and bones, and his inhuman strength especially perplexed Henrik given how skinny he was. 

“And you're very fortunate I didn't decide to turn that lovely ink of yours into a lamp shade…” Jonannes snarled, that animalistic growl rising in his throat as if he were summoning a demon, and perhaps he was. Henrik shivered, though he couldn't tell if it was from fear or anticipation. 

“Oh… _Fuck!_ ” Henrik gasped in surprise, the hand tightening its grip around his neck as the clown's head dropped and he felt teeth graze a nipple. Henrik grit his teeth, arching his back at an electric fire tore down his spine straight to his cock. 

“Holy fucking shit, man!” Henrik screeched, throwing his head back as much as he could while a pale hand slid lecherously down his trim abdomen, lingering momentarily on the sharp curves of his hips and driving him further over the brink of sanity. “How are you doing this?!”

Johannes chuckled cruelly, giving his victim an innocent shrug before his hold on the man's throat was relinquished and long fingers wrapped around his shaft. Henrik hissed, feeling his hips move on their own accord against the touch, needing more. The demon grinned and happily obliged, sinking between the bassist's parted legs and working him into a frenzy.

“I may have underestimated you, my pet. There's so much potential in you, and you're quite the kinky bastard… I pictured you as a bit of a goodie two-shoes...”

“Hey, fuck y- Oh! Yes, please!” Henrik was suddenly unable to speak as he felt that bizarre, forked tongue slide dangerously along his inner thigh. He bit his lip, the raging currents of fear he’d faced since crashing into this macabre wonderland drifting to the surface, _but it felt so good…_

“Oh, please don't bite me…” He muttered under his breath, shuddering as Johannes’ serpent tongue slid seductively up the underside of his cock before taking him in his mouth. The scarlet bonds held fast as Henrik jerked his arms instinctively, a moan tearing from him. The clown purred around him, sliding his hands around his muscular thighs while he watched his prey squirm in his spider's web.

“Holy _FUCK!”_

Henrik wailed in ecstasy, caught between wanting to escape his obscene nightmare and wanting to feel his hands furled in the creature's smooth, inky hair while he tore him open. He felt his insides burning, that cold, twisting tongue wrapping around him while he rolled his hips faster into Johannes’ dangerous mouth.

“Y-yes! Oh, fuck. You feel so goddamn good...” Henrik was panting, wondering what he'd done to deserve this as he watched, enraptured by the creature’s creatures pale face between his legs. He thought himself to be a fairly ordinary dude, with a relatively simple life and a lovely wife, as well as a certain certain belief system that was about to be fucked senseless. 

He was already so close thanks to those talented lips, but the clown did not wish to give him the release he longed for, not just yet. With a gentle growl, he nipped ever so gently at the sensitive flesh as he lifted his head, the black grimace of makeup around his lips smeared and glistening with pre-come. Henrik furled his eyebrows, wondering how his disheveled hair and wild grin could still be so intoxicating. Perhaps it was Stockholm Syndrome, or he was more of a twisted son of a bitch than he even realized!

“Wh-Why’d you stop?” The bassist whined. ‘Some goddamn vegan you are…” Henrik was seeing stars as disorienting and colorful as the chintzy strings of Christmas lights, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach, needing to feel more of him. Now all that was missing this evening was a ouija board scribbled on the wall to conjure a dark parallel universe. 

“Indeed, and I can't wait to rip you apart…” Johannes bared his teeth threateningly, and Henrik nearly screamed when the clown slipped from the matress for a moment, but only because he was hard as a rock and at the cusp of orgasm. Still, the helpless victim couldn't wonder if corpses happened more often than coupling in here. 

Despite this, as Henrik observed the deep scars across the ashen white flesh of Johannes’ back, he'd never felt anything quite as exhilarating as those lips and the otherworldly power that emanated from him. The demon could have easily killed him by now, but he hadn't even left a bruise on the human's flesh… Why was he being spared?

Henrik closed his eyes, trying to remember any details from his accident when the clown returned. He sighed, surrendering to the strength of eerily long limbs curling around him possessively, lips administering a pleasant assault of nips and kisses across the bassist’s lightly inked torso. He held something, and Henrik was grateful to see it was lube of some kind.

“You… Are a most gracious host.” Henrik whimpered with the last vestiges of sarcasm, lifting an eyebrow.

“Ha… You actually think I'm going to be gentle with you?” Johannes snorted, taking his place between Henrik’s toned legs again in one eerily graceful movement. Henrik could see the hunger burning in blue eyes, felt the tremble of restraint as the creature fought to keep himself from pouncing and ending this moment in bloodshed. The danger, the threat of death just was all too arousing.

“I'm just going to take the sting off enough that you don't pass out on me.” That reptilian snarl made Henrik shudder.

Before he could blink, he felt teeth in his shoulder, biting down hard enough to draw blood. Henrik howled in pain, but the raw, agonizing sensation turned quickly to an explosion of pleasure. He instinctively arched his back, feeling his strong legs hook around Johannes’ hips.

“ _FUCK!_ You goddamn crazy bastard!” Henrik moaned. The clown chuckled against the wound, enjoying how the foolish human squirmed as he flicked his tongue against the blood trickling down his chest.

“Mmm, I did tell you there was a price for trespassing on sacred ground. You've already seen too much, as it is.” Henrik bit his lip, conscious fear beginning to seep through the dark, intoxicating glamor of lust.

“But I.... But you said-" Henrik stammered.

“Oh, darling!” Johannes laughed, seeming quite amused by his pet beginning to brim on the edge of hysteria again, beginning another futile effort to free himself from his blood red bonds. He studied him intently as he spoke, spilling the contents over his hands and working the oil over his length. “You are far too good for the human world, too beautiful to be poisoned by their lies and false promises of material wealth and power in such a fleeting existence... “

“Are… Are you fucking kidding me?!” Henrik groaned as he felt those hands hooking beneath his knees, pulling them higher around Johannes’ sinewy frame. He could feel himself sinking further into the matress, wisps of black hair caressing his face like a chilled wind. “I have a good life, a joint bank account, French toast, dental insurance….”

“Do you want to keep repeating the same, monotonous shit from day to day while expecting a different result? That sounds like insanity to me, sweet Henrik…” He cooed the man’s name as he wet his fingers with the fresh crimson still dripping from the macabre eclipse of marred flesh, a trophy Henrik would keep with him until the end of time. He painted a grin of dark red across the bassist's lips, enjoying his brand new smile before aligning himself and snapping his hips forward without further notice.

Henrik screamed bloody murder, his vision going dark at the edges with consciousnes threatening to slip away from his weakened grasp. He could only wonder what horrors lay beyond the door of this deceptively clean and cozy little room of a fucking psychopath, but in his torrent of agony, he felt more alive than he ever had. 

“Gods, you are fucking perfection. I love it when you scream!” Johannes sighed, tilting his head back in ecstasy at the warmth encircling his cock. He could taste every subtle nuance of Henrik’s suffering, as well as the latent fire igniting inside the mortal. He allowed his handsome pet a moment to reel before sliding his slender hips back and impaling him again. Henrik clenched his fists, gritting his teeth while welcoming the pain with open arms and legs. He wailed again and threw his head back against the comfortable pillow Johannes had provided for the occasion. 

“Please…” Henrik moaned, a sheen of perspiration on his flushed cheeks. He felt a hand on his throat again, long fingers sliding around his windpipe until he gasped, eyelids fluttering as he regarded the beautiful and terrifying man above him. Another thrust and Henrik saw stars, felt the sensation of wind currents carrying him through the clouds, felt the electricity that flowed through these mysterious woods deep inside of him. _“Don't fucking stop!”_

Johannes happily obliged, relishing the power that radiated from their violent union, the throaty cries of pleasure and pain ripping from his captive. It was an unfortunate fate for this young man who'd only found himself stranded here by unforeseen circumstances, but it was a fate written for him long ago. 

Henrik felt like his insides were on fire, his consciousnes waning as the glorious sensation of being torn apart repeatedly becoming too much. He breathed the creature’s name, finally seeing him for what he was for the first time as he did his best to focus on the vicious, snarling face. He was no longer afraid of him, not even bound to a bed in a cozy little murder house, and he managed to grin at the thought before the clown brought him to climax with one final, angry snap of his hips.

The clown lost himself to the darkness that created him, succumbing to his natural-born madness. He ravaged the young bassist with a frenzy that should have killed anyone else. The sound that came from his mouth when he came sent violent tremors down the walls of the structure, a howl that would haunt Henrik for the rest of his days. He didn't move for a moment, watching the human panting weakly beneath him, his hair and body damp with sweat.

“I…” The clown gasped, leaning down to gently kiss his pet’s temple. “I thank you, dear Henrik. We've had such a nice evening, haven't we?”

“You're unreal…” Henrik whispered, having only enough energy to quirk an eyebrow, much less ponder what would happen next. “Can… Can you untie me, maybe?”

“It's always complaints with you!” Johannes snickered, but complied for the first time since their first encounter in the playground. Henrik’s arms immediately slumped to his sides, the wrists lightly red from thrashing in the throes of desire. He wasn't going anywhere for now, but Johannes certainly wasn't done with him yet. “Rest assured, I was joking about turning your tatttoo into a lamp shade. I like you better alive and bitching about everything.”

He took Henrik further by surpise when he slunk down into the mattress beside him, draping a long white arm around him with a strangely endearing expression of abject adoration. He was rather cute in a perverse and homicidal kind of way. The sound of a door slamming broke Henrik from his surreal afterglow, and his heart began to pound again.

“Oh, no.” Jonannes said apathetically. “Daddy’s home early…’

A figure stepped into the doorway and Henrik’s mind went from 0 to 60 in an instant: He remembered the catchy chorus blaring in his ears before the ugly sound of screeching tires and light that sent him spiraling down the rabbit hole, and now he was staring directly into the face of the driver… or what was left of her.

“Oh, honey! I'm home!”

The driver in question was merely the decapitated head of a woman, the bloody whisps of her hair held in a prim gloved hand. The man holding the head was dressed in a dapper white suit, back from a night of literally painting the town red. His feet were clad in a pair of polished Spatz shoes, and he hung his white fedora neatly on a hook beside the door. 

”You've made quite a mess in the kitchen, my dear!” The well-dressed murderer crowed, casually rolling the disembodied head across the floor like a soccer ball. “Would you believe this drunk bint tried running me over on the way?” 

One of his eyes glittered a vibrant emerald, while the other was a spectral white that seemed to emanate its own otherworldly light from beyond the silvery depths. They were now locked securely on Henrik, who was beginning to tremble with Johannes’ arm still securely wound around his middle. 

“Y-you! I can't fucking believe it...” Henrik stammered, eyeing the ghostly face in disbelief. “You're… you're the Cardinal.”

“Awe, rats!’ Johannes giggled, prompting Henrik to turn his head and stare him down for a good moment. The clown shrugged and kissed the bassist’s cheek before smiling sweetly at Copia. “Oh yes! Drunk bint ran our new best friend over, too. This is Henrik and he's the prophesied one!”

“I'm the _...what?”_

“It’s a small, vengeful little world, after all!” Johannes laughed, twirling a finger in Henrik’s auburn hair. “Don't worry, Henrik. We're just getting started writh you… “

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. There's No Place Like Home...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henrik becomes better acquainted with his new host, the mysterious Cardinal Copia, as well as one of the clergyman's fiercest Ghouls. 
> 
> Trapped in a charming murderhouse, our willing victim discovers his presence in the cursed woods is by no accident, and a dark realm is waiting impatiently for his return...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clarify, my depictions of the Nameless Ghouls are a combination of personalities from previous Ghost eras.
> 
> My Air Ghoul is represented as the taller 'Prequelle' Ghuleh. Other Ghoul appearances to follow, and there's a good reason they keep their masks on here. ;)
> 
> This is a dark, bloody, and smutty comedy. Take it or leave it. :3

Part 2: There's No Place Like Home….

Henrik was drifting between the veil of consciousness, hoping to wake in his own bed at any moment, far away from the macabre arrhythmia of reality lurking deep within cursed, dark woods. He felt the featherlight touch of fingers in his hair, and expected to return to his humdrum existence, a monotonous routine of breakfast smoothies, cramped cubicles and number sequences supplementing his crippling addiction to creating music. He leaned into the caress, expecting to hear the familiar voice of his true love, but a strange man's hiss snapped him from his daze.

“...I leave to tend to matters in the Church for a few days, only to come back to idiot human drivers, a bloodbath in the kitchen amidst dirty dishes, plastic wrap and duct tape everywhere, and for _fuck’s_ sake, Johannes -- Enough with the goddamn Christmas decorations!!! It looks like Winona Ryder lives here!”

Henrik slowly opened his eyes to gaze blearily at the man he recognized as the frontman of a certain clandestine Swedish sensation: Cardinal Copia. A shiny gloved hand rested on the clergyman’s hip as he scowled down at the scene before him disapprovingly. He seemed less concerned about the painfully obvious criminal activity than the inconvenient delay of his busy Rock God schedule. 

“Oh, don't be such a Debbie Downer, Cardi C.” Johannes said coolly. He was still lying beside Henrik on the bed, his sinewy upper body propped up on one elbow while his other hand continued to caress the human's wavy auburn locks reverently. “There have been thirty-two threats to the Rift since it opened and all but this one were executed. While you were being wined and dined by the Underworld Elite, I kept your Church safe and undisturbed by humans. Besides, I was going to make us ratatouille tonight--” 

The crestfallen sob in his throat suddenly became an angry snarl. 

“ _So don't you fucking sass me…_ ”

“And if it weren't for that ass of yours and my idiot brother bequeathing you to me as his most prized worldly possession in his will, I'd gladly kill you.” Copia replied sincerely. 

“That makes me miss him so much....” Johannes mused over at the disembodied head on the floor with a solemn expression. He blinked and smiled again, as if beheadings were a regular occurence in ...these parts. “Oh, Cardi-" He whined in a most convincing Lucille Ball impression. “Looks like I've got some ‘splaining to do…”

Henrik briefly wondered if he was unwillingly interloping on a private conversation between a married couple.

“Are you guys for real?” The bassist mused, turning back to the clown fearfully. “Were you serious when you said I was dead in a ditch somewhere? Am I… Is this Hell?”

“Cozy, isn't it?” he Cardinal snorted derisively, but Henrik could feel those piercing, bi-colored eyes carefully studying every inch of his prone form. Henrik shivered, but not because the attention was entirely unwanted.

“That was just foreplay, honey. You're very much alive...” Johannes purred seductively. His cold serpent’s tongue flicked past his lips, tickling Henrik’s ear. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of this reptilian wolfman with his wild black hair and smeared war paint, but there was something endearing about the predatory son of a bitch. He slid slowly from the bed, and Henrik realized that he already missed his obscene touch.

“I can see why you've kept this one in a solid piece, my dear…” The Cardinal said to Johannes, craning his neck to look up at the pale, naked man standing beside him. “Though, while I would just loathe to waste that beautiful Robert Plant hair draping his fine skull, you know we can't have any witnesses!”

“W-Wait… You said you'd let me g--” Henrik sat up quickly, and instantly regretted his decision after being bound and so savagely brutalized by a tall and handsome stranger. “Ow, _fuck!_ ”

“In a moment, Henrik... “ Johannes held up a hand to silence him before narrowing his eyes down at the cardinal. “Don't you find it deliciously convenient how that-" He gestured lazily to the severed head again. “-Is what brought him here? It's like kismet! Can we keep him?!’

“That is called a coincidence, Johannes. Now…” The prim and proper Cardinal turned up his nose, silver eye glittering dangerously. “Get your ass back in the kitchen and clean up. You look a mess.”

Johannes growled, grabbing the arm of Copia’s white jacket. His teeth were bared as he spoke, his sharp canines glinting dangerously, “Before you go lopping off more heads, do remember that I am an emissary of this forest and she does not lie to me... There's something about him, something about the way he tastes…” His grip tightened. “He's different than the rest of them. _We_ think he's the one...” 

Henrik blinked, slightly annoyed that he was being referred to as if he weren't even in the room, but he silently watched, transfixed by the sight of the tall one bargaining for the human's life. The scars that covered his white skin looked deep and carried many dark secrets, but while it seemed he answered faithfully to the Cardinal, he wasn't afraid to argue. Still, there was a strange innocence about him that almost distracted Henrik from the fact that both these men belonged in a federal prison. 

“See for yourself if you don't believe me…” Johannes sneered. Copia seemed to consider this, scanning Henrik purposefully, grinning as the human seemed to shrink involuntarily from the intensity of his gaze. He chuckled, lifting a hand to caress Johannes’ cheek. The creature began to purr.

“I'll consider it. Now, my darling, get the fuck out.” Johannes obeyed and then Henrik was alone with a man he'd thought to be just a costumed performer, a mere concept set to music. He'd had a similar vision for the music he strummed on the strings of his bass: stories of kings, death and rebirth…

“I... really didn't mean to intrude on anything.” Henrik stammered, anxiously peering over Copia’s shoulder and into the hallway, but any plausible escape plan was reduced to white noise as the undead clergyman pinned him down with his gaze. “I was just riding home, I swear. I wouldn't have disrupted the balance of nature or whatever if it hadn't been for--” He managed a weak gesture towards the disembodied head, chilling on the floor like no big deal. “And… Thank you, I guess? _Shit._ ”

“Henrik, is it?” Copia whispered, and Henrik was certain he hadn't shared his name with the Cardinal, either. The strange and graceful creature slipped closer until he was hovering directly over the bassist, intently examining the wounds on his shoulder for a moment. His movements were careful as he traced the curve of marred flesh induced by the clown’s urges, and he shook his head in annoyance. “My apologies for my pet's behavior. He's very impulsive at times, and very opinionated at that…”

“Y-yeah…” Henrik agreed. “That's the understatement of the century.”

He could hear a voice drifting from another room, a strangely pleasant baritone that could have only belonged to the clown. He was singing in a language that Henrik couldn't decipher, but it struck something primal in his heart. He shivered at Copia’s touch, unable to pull away as a gloved hand turned his face towards his captor’s Master. He was hideous in the most enthralling way, and Henrik wouldn't have minded if he disemboweled him slowly, though he was grateful when the Cardinal kissed him instead.

“This is so fucked up…” Henrik breathed, feeling the tension that had been building before Johannes had temporarily pounded it out of him return with a vengeance. He felt heat rising to his cheeks once again. “Who are you, really? With all due respect, I thought you were just some suave ladies’ man with a clever schtick and a cheap Halloween mask… ”

“For the record, I don't discriminate…” Copia curled a lip, the skin appearing too natural to be a latex mask, the spectral glow of his eye seeming to draw Henrik closer. He felt his hands, now free from any restraints, moving on their own accord to encircle the man’s shoulders. The Cardinal kissed him again, more passionately this time as his slender weight pushed Henrik back onto the sheets. “Secondly, are you trying to say I look cheap?”

“I-- No… Yes! Er,” Henrik felt like a right nitwit at that particular moment, but he had narrowly avoided death for the third time this evening and Copia was being considerably more gentle than his serpent-tongued weapon. Despite being held prisoner against his will, every touch made the bassist feel less inclined to leave. Now Copia’s tongue was exploring his mouth, and Henrik’s hands were furled tightly in the man’s hair before he he realized what was happening. 

Copia broke away to let the poor dear catch his breath. Henrik’s face was burning hotter with shame, his erection hard against Copia’s thigh and his mind a blur of inebriating white noise. “Hmm, perhaps my Johannes was right about you… You are nothing like the rest of them. You taste… Incredible.”

“Seriously, what the fuck are you?!’ Henrik growled, but the hair beneath his trembling grip was soft, and the gloved hands touching him were very skilled. Henrik wanted to know what he felt like inside of him, too. “…Goddamnit, I'm married!”

“One of those, I see.” Copia wrinkled his nose, absently taking note of the ring on Henrik’s finger, of which he nipped at appreciatively. “It was foretold that the fated one would be virtuous… a vanilla goodie two-shoes bitch such as yourself.”

“Excuse me?!” Henrik narrowed his eyes and attempted to kick Copia, who merely grabbed the calf of his leg without blinking an eye. Henrik relented, having to remind himself that he was no match for this supernatural clusterfuck, and now he was livid: ‘Your… fucking… associate, bodyguard, housekeeper, ... _whatever!_ \- that creepy fucking clown kidnapped me and brought me to your little gingerbread house of horror, tied me up with my jacket, and… he confused the fuck out of me! And you… you won a goddamn _Grammy._ What the hell is going on?!”

“I wouldn't play the victim card so quickly, given the sounds you were making when Johannes was fucking you up the ass. I could hear you filthy animals from outside!” Copia smiled softly, giving Henrik’s nose an affectionate tap before he lifted himself off the man in one graceful motion. He smoothed back his hair and straightened out his jacket, though the physical response from the contact was clearly evident. 

“It seems you have a very unique effect on us, my dear boy… And if you are who we think you are, you are a very dangerous weapon indeed.” The Cardinal hissed through gritted teeth, fists clenched tightly against his sides. The debonair visage of the metal icon that Henrik thought he knew was crumbling, and he should have considered himself lucky, given the hordes of women who would have gladly spilled blood to have this moment with Copia. “As dangerous as a star about to burst in a brilliant inferno, taking everything along with it…”

“I… I'll take that as a compliment…” Henrik whimpered, and for the first time this fateful evening, his curiosity was piqued. “Are you saying I'm some kind of Supernova, er… some kind of weapon?” He sat up again, daring to edge closer to Copia standing at the edge of the bed. The allure of the man was undeniable, his scent making Henrik feel weak in the knees as he crawled towards him on all fours.

Copia ran his hands longingly through the silky waves of auburn framing Henrik’s face, admiring what lay within the depths of those intense blue eyes, beyond his fear and his misguided innocence, and the creature was now looking back at him for the first time.

“To think you have survived this long amidst those parasites without realizing your full potential… We've been waiting for you a long time, child.’

Copia growled, bending down to crush his lips against his captive, who returned the gesture with little hesitation this time. One of Henrik’s hands snaked around the clergyman’s shoulders, his tongue sliding across the other's teeth, the other hand going straight for his belt buckle. 

“In for the kill, darling…” The Cardinal hissed, his arousal becoming nearly painful as a hand clumsily fumbled with the zipper of his pants. Henrik, in his dubious state of consciousness, elicited a weary moan as he gripped the man’s man’s thick length in his hand. “Go on, pet… Drink me.”

“Oh, you're very… um, impressive, but I don't think I can--" Henrik wasn't complaining for lack of desire, but his jaw was aching well before Copia seized an ample fistful of hair and brought the man's lips to his cock. 

“Ohhh, fuck! Y-yes, you are something else all right…”

Henrik struggled to catch his breath momentarily, trying not to gag when Copia drew back his hips before impaling his mouth up to the hilt. Henrik’s throat relaxed and let him do as he wished, having never known what it was like to be so coveted, almost revered by such dark and deadly beings. He slid his tongue along the Cardinal’s shaft, peering up to meet his burning two-toned gaze, and he secretly enjoyed the control he had over him now.

“I can see the darkness lurking beneath that sweet, naive facade of yours…” Copia curled back his lip, teeth elongating into fine points, the deep growl that rolled from his throat making Henrik shiver, but he didn't stop. He could already sense that the devil's emissary was already so close, taking him deeper in his mouth as he became aware of claws instead of hands in his hair. 

It was almost as if he had almost forgotten that he was in trapped in the epicenter of a massacre, possibly the largest in Swedish history. Somehow, as fate would have it, it was not his time to die. The reason for his tumble down the rabbit hole was still dead and disembodied, but Henrik felt some vindication nonetheless. 

“Dear Satan… I can feel it inside of you, coursing through the trees around us…” Henrik could have sworn he saw Cardinal Copia’s shadow looming behind him, defying physics in the fiber optic rainbow of lights dancing around the room. Great, skeletal wings erupted from the dark moniker’s back, flickering and stretching across the walls and up the ceiling. . “The human parasites won’t stand a chance when my ghouls and I unleash your power… **FUCK!** ”

“ _Wha??_ -" Henrik’s voice was muffled and Copia had already reached his breaking point, clamping his hands down on the back of Henrik’s head, bucking his hips wildly as he came. Henrik cringed at yet another new experience of many that night, coughing weakly as he pulled away with a glare. “Maybe a little warning next time?”

“You look so very lovely with my seed dripping down your chin.” Cardinal Copia sighed dreamily, brushing a damp lock of hair from Henrik’s cheek. 

“I guess that sounds a lot less creepy when you say it like that.” Henrik muttered, wiping at his jaw with the back of his wrist.

“Now, it seems you'll need a new change of clothing if you'll be joining us this evening, not that I mind you in this state…” The Cardinal breathed as he slid his fingers down Henrik’s tattooed arm, momentarily fixated on his toned and gently battered form. He plucked an errant leaf from the human’s humans long, wild hair. “You would greatly benefit from a shower, as well... ”

Henrik glared at him reproachfully, but the miasma of sweat, sex, blood, and earth felt oppressive on his fair skin, and he sure as shit didn't smell like a bouquet of roses. 

The Cardinal noted his subtle disdain and extended a helping hand, anyway.

Henrik took it after a minute, legs still wobbly from being stretched around a much taller man, then being driven on his knees in front of another. He shook his head wearily, feeling even filthier as Copia gently led him from the room and down a lengthy hall. 

“This place sure seems a lot bigger than it does from the outside…” Henrik mused aloud, remembering the humble cottage exterior with its quaint murder house decorum, (where even the lawn gnomes carried a sinister backstory behind them) and quickly felt the laws of physics weren't adding up.

“That's because it is. You think I would allow one of my favorite pets to live like a peasant in that mud hut of a mirage I created for him?” 

“So modest…” Henrik could smell something cloyingly antiseptic in the air, a dangerous combination of ammonia and bleach. He began to feel nauseous, wondering what a mess in the kitchen was defined as in this clean and cozy night terror. 

“ _Holy fuck_ , how is he not already dead in there?” Henrik wheezed, feeling mildly lightheaded. He had been raised to believe murderers were to be locked away until their final judgement was decided in fire and brimstone, but he couldn't help feel slightly concerned for the clown.

“He’s survived much worse and enjoyed it. No need to fret.” Copia wrinkled his nose and turned his head towards the acrid stench of ammonium chloride drifting from further down the hall and howled, “Open a fucking window or something!”

“You betcha’! Shall I light a match while I'm at it, make sure there's nothing unsafe and flammable in the fumes?” Johannes hollered sarcastically from the kitchen. Copia sighed and hung his shoulders defeatedly.

“He is such a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“He sure is.” Henrik agreed, wincing as he made his way into the bathroom, and there were thankfully no grisly surprises there. There were, however, a diverse collection of decorative soaps.

“Good to know you’re both so keen on keeping tidy and utilizing the forensic evidence instead of... I don't know, burying the bodies in a shallow grave like normal serial killers...” Henrik paused, feeling saucy. “I guess this is why all those Missing Persons reports are still up.”

“And you're still breathing aren't, you?” Copia quirked an eyebrow. He gestured to the shower, which looked fully stocked and extremely inviting to Henrik, who thought of Elizabeth Bathory bathing in the blood of the innocent.

“I'm in the Twilight Zone, but yeah… Could I possibly have some privacy, please? I mean, I appreciate you not dismembering me and all, but I just need a few minutes…”

“So… You don't want me to join you, my dear boy?” Copia sneered, delivering a quick open palmed snack to Henrik’s backside.

“Jesus!” Henrik yelped.

“Watch your fucking language, _puttano._ ” The Cardinal scolded, turning the faucet. “And of course… I'll leave a change of clothes for you outside the door. Don't try to slash your wrists or anything stupid like that!”

After the clandestine chaplain closed the door, the lock engaging with a loud click,Henrik sighed and cranked down the heat of the water to avoid being burned alive before leaping into the welcoming spray. After rinsing away the layer of shame, he cautiously sniffed the contents of a shampoo bottle and found his captor _was_ actually intent on making him smell like a bouquet of roses.

“Could be worse, I guess.” He whispered aloud, ever the optimist. His lecherous hosts seemed keen on keeping him alive with a cryptic prophecy hanging over his shoulders, and he had no clue what would become of him when it was fulfilled. For all he could tell, they'd spit roast him alive, and not in the fun way.

He finished up and grabbed a towel that had already been folded for him, anxiously eyeing the window leading back out into the pitch dark forest. He felt substantially better after scrubbing himself raw, but knew that feeling would also be short lived if he didn't do something drastic and fast, before the Cardinal decided to return for the next round. The fact that Henrik’s mind lingered on the enticing possibilities of what he'd do next was enough, and he was relieved to find that the window was not nailed shut.

Quickly peering through the steam drifting around the tiled, candlelit room, his eyes fell on a silken robe hanging on the back of the locked door. It was thin and embarrassingly short, but it was better to run through the woods screaming for help in what looked like  
ladies’ garments than wearing nothing at all.

“Well, they do keep calling me a bitch... Just my luck.” Henrik grumbled. In the process of tying the robe and fumbling for any blunt object he could use as a makeshift weapon, he heard a pair of footsteps rapidly approaching the door in long, gangly strides.

“Fuck!” Henrik hissed as he plucked a particularly menacing looking candlestick from the edge of the sink, sending half a dozen breakable trinkets and soaps to the floor with a loud crash. There were three thunderous knocks on the door before Henrik rushed back to the window, throwing it open with a grunt.

“Little pig, little pig, what the fuck are you doing in there?” Johannes crooned through the doorway. 

“ _Shitting a brick, most likely…_ ” Henrik whined, sticking his head out the window to check for any signs of bears or other dangers.

He was more than halfway out the window when something metallic glinted just outside his periphery. He would have easily fallen headfirst to the ground had a pair of sturdy arms not swept beneath him just then. The shock of this evening's beguiling events had left him dazed enough, and now he was under the scrutiny of a very intense pair of jade eyes, the rest of their features cloaked behind the chrome horned mask belonging to none other than one of The Nameless Ghouls.

“Well, good evening…” The woman’s voice purred, and Henrik tilted his head in dumbfounded wonderment as she now held him in her arms, realizing he was the damsel in distress. “It’s not the first time I've had to chase after a boy trying to escape through a window…” He immediately regretted his decision to try to run, fearing the consequences would be dire.

“Excuse me, uh… uh, ma’am? Could you just kill me quickly, … please?”

She rolled her eyes beneath her mask, the brilliant green of her irises carrying the same unnatural glow as the other denizens that lived within the hellish coil of these woods. Henrik felt more vulnerable now than he had being manhandled by a dark cardinal and a psychotic clown, and something told him she could have snapped his spine like a fucking twig if crossed. 

“Oh, but I love taking in scrappy stray mongrels. You're just the cutest thing!” She growled gleefully, momentarily hugging the bassist close to her ample bosom before turning back to the house.

“No! D-don't do that…” Henrik whined, knowing full well that he wasn't capable of hitting a woman, even a masked killer built like a curvaceous cage fighter with the strength of a tank. “I really, really need to get home and-"

“Don't be silly, Henrik. You just got here!” The Ghuleh laughed, and the door flew open as she and Henrik reached the top step of the porch.

Copia was scowling with his hands planted firmly on his hips, now fully clad in his crimson red vestments, the pointed biretta canted on his head in a way that indicated he’d adorned his ceremonial apparel in a hurry. Johannes was looming behind him with a sour expression on his freshly painted face, wearing a very domestic frilly apron and wielding a mop heavily soiled in human blood.

“ _Christ on a fucking cracker!_ ” Copia roared, throwing up his gloved hands in dismay. “And just who the fuck do you think you are, coming into our forest with the fate of the world in your hands and leaving before a rousing game of Scrabble? You ungrateful whore!”

“I'm an unwilling participant in a giant cosmic mindfuck. Please leave me alone.” Henrik said this as nonchalantly as possible as he felt the Lady Ghoul’s wickedly clawed hand beginning to wander up his bare thigh, and he whimpered anxiously. “And please tell Ronda Rousey here to s-stop groping me.”

“He smells like Marzipan.” Ghuleh breathed, bringing her masked face closer to Henrik’s as she inhaled his scent more aggressively. Henrik couldn't help but shiver at the touching of cool metal against his neck, her intimidating presence eliciting more than just dread. 

“Ah, well… Thank you?” Henrik whispered, not sure how else to respond after being likened to an almond-based confectionery. His daze lifted abruptly when he found himself being forced down into a chair in the kitchen, sparkling clean with the heavy scent of bleach permeating in the air. There was another scent, very faint and only noticeable to Henrik, but the underlying smell of death in epic proportions was tangible and could not be scoured away so easily. 

“You didn't think I wouldn't take some precautions after you demanded to be alone, didn't you?” Copia was leaning casually against the counter island, Johannes standing behind him with his arms wrapped lazily around his waist and a dazed grin on his face from inhaling cleaning solvents. Henrik felt something binding his wrists behind the back of the chair and turned to see the Lady Ghoul standing behind him.

“You're a naughty one. I could just eat you up!” Air cooed, combing her claws through Henrik’s hair. He shivered, feeling another inconvenient stir in his loins as her large hands raked over his skin. She was tall, mostly legs, and he had to admit that inhuman strength in a woman was quite attractive. 

“Is she?” Henrik whined as Ghuleh’s claws drifted further down his neck. “Are the decorative soaps all a ruse so you assholes can sacrifice me to some ancient god?”

“I was sacrificed to an ancient god once. I couldn't walk for weeks!” The peanut gallery chimed in, a wide grin on his painted black lips as he rested his head on one of Copia’s mozzetta-clad shoulders. 

“Hmph,” Ghuleh snorted, glaring at the clown in a way that indicated to Henrik that they didn't care for each other in the slightest. “Which god? Seems to me like you'd try suck starting a Harley Davidson if the room was dark enough.”

“Bitch.” Johannes sneered. 

“Slut.” Ghuleh replied calmly. 

“Touché.”

“Simmer down, children!” Copia cried, giving Johannes a reassuring pat on the head. “We are celebrating tonight, after all. And Henrik, no one is feeding you to anything. I realize it was the other way around earlier...” His aged, yet distinguished features darkened, something flickering beneath a mask that wasn't a mask. 

Henrik blushed, slightly mortified. He felt he’d been fairly open minded before, but wouldn't have dreamed of losing himself in this macabre decadence in his lifetime. He preferred to stay in the background, riding the natural flow of his well-structured existence, and he'd never really been the center of attention until now. 

_It was almost exhilarating..._

“Please don't get me wrong… It isn't that I'm not grateful that you're not murdering me or whatever, and you've really challenged my entire belief system, which has been extremely enlightening…” Henrik paused and took a deep breath, feeling himself begin to panic. He looked over his shoulder and found his wrists were bound by a string of Christmas lights this time. “... Seriously?! This is just too much too handle right now.”

“Hear that? He's shy…” Ghuleh giggled, swooping around the face Henrik and further admire his predicament. She smelled like a cold cemetery mist, and her touch on his shoulder felt like a storm breeze against his skin. “Don't hide from your fate, my sweet.”

“Er, to be fair… I'm not the one hiding behind a mask and preying on innocent people.” Henrik pressed, becoming annoyed, although he felt an overwhelming curiosity as to what lay behind the Air Ghoul’s chrome facade.

“You're no different than me, Henrik, or from any of the creatures guarding the rift to our world.” Ghuleh continued, nonplussed by the snide remark. Her hands lifted to her face, just beneath the metal cleft over her mouth, also obscured by a black balaclava underneath. “Would you like a peek?”

Henrik felt a surge of dread in the pit of his stomach as the tall and shapely Ghuleh began to slide the silvery mask over her head, simultaneously pulling down the thin piece of fabric down her chin. Henrik’s wide eyes were only able to focus up to the fourth row of spinning, serrated teeth in a gaping, arachnoidien maw until his mortal brain decided it had enough. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped forward in the chair, out cold from fright. 

“Butterface.” Johannes said.

“Troll.” Ghuleh rasped, mouth segments moving independently as she spoke. 

“Well done, darling…” Copia chuckled, strolling over to confirm the permanently scarred man was still breathing. “I think you've made quite an impression on our new guest, my dear pets. Shall we take him home before he comes to?”

**** 

_To be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome!


	3. The Raven Through The Looking Glass...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't think we're in Sweden anymore, Toto."
> 
> Just beyond the rift in the woods, Henrik becomes more aquainted with Cardinal Copia and the intimidating Ghoulette in the anteroom of Hell, discovering more about his purpose in their possession.  
> Shapeshifters, ancient prophecies and a ménage à trois... Oh my??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long break from writing (cheerful, happy things, anyhow...) here is the continuation of a story where Henrik just can't get a break. I was inspired to continue by another story written by a good friend. Enjoy and leave feedback if you can! ;)

**\- Part 3: -**

_Henrik felt like he was flying, carried through the blackened skies as icy winds lashed violently against his bare skin. He heard a roar like thunder, the sound of great bladed wings slicing through the raging storm. He felt feathers against his neck, protected in the taloned grip of a creature human eyes were never meant to see as it waged war in the heavens, lifting him higher into the eye of the hurricane…_

**\--- Hell’s Anteroom ---**

The bassist bolted upright, colliding into consciousnes with a soundless scream. His heart was pounding in his chest as the dimly lit room began to swim blearily into focus, grounding himself with the sensation of soft sheets, something tangible, beneath him. For a moment, he thought his nightmare was truly over.

Henrik turned his head and came face to face with a large python, its long, forked tongue flicking out of its mouth as it stared at him from where it was draped over the elaborately carved headboard above him. He screamed, rolling off the bed and onto cold checkered tile.

The snake continued to observe him silently. Its glossy scales were a pearlescent white with black looping patterns sweeping across the animal's back. As it turned its head, tongue flicking towards his scent, Henrik could see distinct, diamond like patterns around the snake's unblinking eyes, much like the harlequin war paint of a certain someone he knew…

_“What now?!”_ Henrik moaned, reeling with delirium as he found himself snared in yet another dream within a dream. 

“You're certainly not in Kansas anymore, my dear.” Copia's voice purred through the gloom, echoing throughout a wide chamber the bassist recognized, yet couldn't remember. He was far, far away from the little haunted house entombed in the Swedish wilderness, a sky as red as the Cardinal's vestments swirling ominously outside the many stained glass windows that lined the tall walls, depictions of demonic idols seeming to scrutinize him from high above. Henrik shuddered at the twisted beauty of it all.

The human snapped his head up to face the strange man, suddenly looming over him with a sly grin on his lips, the pencil thin mustache adorning his sinister features making him look more conniving than before. 

“You son of a bitch…” Henrik breathed, but couldn't find the moxie to enact his rage on his captor, enthralled by his uniquely mismatched gaze. “You're completely fucked in the head!”

“How ungrateful you are!” Copia scoffed. “You're one of the lucky ones, young man.” He continued, yanking the mortal to his feet. He absently brushed invisible lint from the flowing black robes that Henrik didn't recall dressing himself in, the material silky against his skin and most likely quite easy to remove. 

“Most human vessels cannot withstand the shift from one plane of existence to another without their liquified brain leaking from every orifice, and here you are… Even more fascinating…” Copia trailed off, and Henrik allowed his slender hands to wander as they pleased. ‘Your mind is still intact after witnessing the remarkable visage of our lovely Ghuleh…”

“Wha…? _Oh._ ” Henrik winced, recalling how beautiful the Air ghoul's eyes were, sea green like the ocean glittering behind her mask, but from the nose down... He shuddered violently as his mind tried to short circuit on him again, grimly reminded of high school biology lessons involving microscopic photos of carnivorous parasites. 

“She isn't… offended, is she?”

He heard a light chuckle and shrieked again when he saw her, leaning casually against a spiraling pillar nearest the entrance of the chamber. Over her shoulder, he recognized the sigil of the Church engraved into the heavy oak doors, the inverted Celtic cross that now represented far more than a musical sensation.

“No offense taken, sweetie.” She hissed behind the metallic contours of her mask. “You'll make it up to me soon enough.”

“Oh... Okay.” Henrik breathed, feeling his heart begin to pound. Air Ghuleh blew him a kiss, conjuring a small cyclone in front of her that billowed in his direction. He noted the eerie atmosphere pooling its crimson light into the black and white marble tile, then the large snake that complemented the motif so beautifully. “What… what is this place?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be.” Copia replied, smoothing back the bassist's auburn hair from his pale face, clawed fingers drifting down his neck. Henrik felt himself drifting into another stupor. “We had to test you, just to make sure you were worthy. We left you a trail of bread crumbs and we knew you'd fall in our laps in due time.”

“This is unreal…” Henrik felt himself being drawn closer, his cheeks flushing as arms encircled him once more. “I don't understand. I'm... not that special. I play the bass sometimes, but I'm _really_ not prophecy material.”

“You're far more than that, dear boy. You're a god among monsters, a weapon of nature. The Raven is the catalyst of the end of days, and he's been resting deep within you for a very long time.”

Henrik opened his mouth, but there was nothing he could possibly say in lieu of the cryptic bombshell. Then again, he would have never imagined himself practically throwing himself at another man like he had, especially a depraved but strangely sensitive sociopath like Copia. Henrik could have been dead and mangled long ago, but it seemed there was a method to the madness here…

The human whimpered weakly, not seeing much logic in anything as a hand tilted his chin upward and he felt cool lips against his neck. There was a shift in the atmosphere as he became aware of the Lady Ghoul behind him now, her hands creeping hungrily over his hips. 

“I could have been home binge watching ‘ _Orange is the New Black_ ’ by now…” Henrik grumbled to himself.

“So you like dangerous women, hmm?” The Ghuleh's voice hissed in his ear, and her touch chilled him to the bone as the haunting memory of what lay beneath the Ghouls’ horned chrome masks drifted back to the surface. Then again, there was something about her that fascinated him to near obsession, and perhaps he liked being afraid of her. He inhaled sharply as she was already groping his ass through the luxurious fabric of the robe, and the Cardinal was more than happy to assist.

“W-wait…” Henrik wheezed, breaking free of their spell when he sensed movement out of the corner of his eye, remembering the large reptile that had greeted him upon his arrival to this world. “I'm… I'm scared shitless of snakes.”

The python tilted its head, eyeing Henrik with an unnerving sideways glance. The stark patterns around the creature's eyes, so familiar with the crimson blushing around the edges of the black stripes stretching back to the rest of the animal's body, gave it an almost sly expression. The snake stretched his jaws wide in a wide yawn and lazily flicking his tongue. 

“Is that… _Is that Johannes?!”_ Henrik shouldn't have been so surprised, given his predicament in a place he could only assume to be Hell, or somewhere close to it.

“Yes, the walking feather duster…” Air mused, seemingly bitter that the clown had taken the liberty of tasting the Raven before her and Copia's arrival to the rift's gate, and she didn't seem to care much for competition, Henrik noticed. “He always turns into that thing when he's feeling passive aggressive.”

The snake seemed to pause as he gracefully slithered from the headboard, the flicking of his tongue ceasing altogether. Henrik couldn't help but admire the creature as it moved, strong muscles rippling beneath black and white scales that reminded him of a living piece of abstract art. There was a violent cracking sound and Henrik managed to look away as he saw the majestic creature’s body begin to twist and contort, scales peeling away and shifting to fluttering iridescent feathers that receded backwards into pale human flesh. 

Henrik fought another wave of dizziness, his head dropping to Copia's scarlet-clad shoulder, the sounds of Johannes’ sinewy transformation enough to send him under. He felt strong arms beneath his, the Cardinal holding him upright as the human's legs tried giving out again. 

“You'll get used to it, my love.” Copia chuckled. He peered up at the clown, petting the brunette's wavy tresses affectionately. “Thank you for keeping an eye on our newest charge, Johannes… Despite his apparent phobia of snakes, anyhow.”

Johannes shook his head like a large dog, inky hair fluttering around his face, and rose to his feet. Henrik saw his face for the first time, previously hidden beneath the black and red paint, now bare in the dreary climson light of the hellverse seeping through windows and the contrasting glow of burning candles. He was quite beautiful, and Henrik had never found himself so drawn to another man until now, especially after the delicious torment he'd inflicted upon him as the clown.

“I'd do anything for you, Cardi.” Johannes grinned toothily, the red reptilian forked tongue flicking past his lips. He eyed Henrik suddenly, who was still trapped between two greater threats to his safety. “You're so pretty when you're unconscious.”

“T-tahk.” Henrik managed in reply, still mesmerized by the tall and dangerous creature as he watched his lithe, bare form practically sashaying to the doors. The Cardinal's hands on his sides, that alluring power he held over anything willing to accept the influence of the Church was undeniable. 

“He likes you, Henrik… Snakes get such a bad reputation, don't you think? They're actually excellent judges of character, as you can tell from the gift of knowledge Lucifer bestowed to Eve.”

Henrik nodded slowly, tearing his gaze from Johannes to meet the Cardinal's. Copia lifted a hand to Henrik's face, a long, black nail tracing the bassist's jaw. Henrik had been fighting all day, from waking up for work too early, wanting to beat his boss’ head into the copy machine, and now he had been called to worship the Devil Themself. 

“Hail Satan…” Henrik croaked facetiously.

“That's the spirit! Johannes, go make yourself useful and let us commence the Awakening. Perhaps our dear Fire will toss you around a little.”

“Will he ever!” Johannes sang as he left, disappearing in a crimsom plume of mist.

“Was he dropped on his head as a child or did being dragged through the space time continuum fuck up his brain chemistry, too?” Henrik asked after a moment. 

“You're funny.” Air Ghuleh whispered, and Henrik became aware of the sound of shifting fabric as she began to undress herself. The bassist was already tense and the arousal didn't help.

“You don't have any extra teeth anywhere else that I should be aware of, ...do you?” He couldn't help anything he said at this point, and Copia was pulling him closer. 

“Oh, sweetie.” Air almost cackled, making the hairs on the mortal's neck stand on end along with everything else. He groaned angrily, feeling clawed hands reaching around his hips, sliding down. “Vagina Dentata runs on my fourth mother's side of the family, but it's unfortunately a recessive gene. My sister, however...”

“Ghuleh, please. He's not going to survive that. It would be like sending him through through a wood chipper!” Copia grumbled, though he found great pleasure in the sheer horror he saw in his prey’s azure blue eyes.

"That's... Extremely fucked up, thanks."

"You're so welcome." The tall Lady Ghoul agreed, lecherously stroking the human through the fabric of his robes. His vulnerability was delightful, but Copia knew he would be truly dangerous the instant the flame was lit.

Henrik dared to turn his head to see the Ghulen behind him, still wearing her silvery devil mask for his sake. However, she had shed her black cassock and stylish heeled Spatz, wearing nothing more than a pair of black panties hugging her wide hips. She was curved and sculpted in all the right places, marble white arms striated with stark ink depicting elemental runes amidst tribal vines crawling down her sides. 

“Holy… I don't know.” Henrik breathed, almost forgetting the multiple rows of teeth beneath the metallic facade. She seemed to appreciate his admiration, gently taking his hands in hers. Her claws were much longer than human fingers, her grip like a bear trap, but he didn't really care.

“Listen…” He whispered, feeling almost intoxicated by her scent. “I'm not the kind of guy to just take advantage of a situation and I just feel like--” 

"Would you shut the fuck up?" Air rolled her eyes and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it against one of her round breasts. Her flesh was cold, but soft as silk. “Chivalry isn't dead, after all. ...Pansy.”

“Right… Sure.”

“Our lovely Air is so much more… willfull than her predecessor before her.” Copia mused affectionately. “Well, she fought the old Air to the death and we've enjoyed her company since!”

“I literally fed his balls to him.” Air cooed in warning to the mortal, practically melting against her. He felt a strong surge of fear and excitement that made him want to come right there. He could sense the Cardinal had been waiting for his turn to tear into him for quite a while, pulling him away from the Ghoulette to kiss him roughly.

“Ooh, now that's a pretty sight.” Air cooed appreciatively as the Cardinal attacked the other man's mouth with his sly tongue. Giggling, she grabbed a thick handful of auburn waves, yanking Henrik’s head back sharply. The bassist moaned breathlessly, quickly losing control of his impulses. Copia smirked, drawing back to admire his victim before shoving him to the floor.

“Ow! Shit, take it easy!” Henrik growled, wincing slightly despite the giddy thrill he felt tear through his prone form. He was still quite tender from his bound housewarming gift from the clown, but he was starting to develop an addiction, already feigning for his next fix.

“I was under the impression you liked it rough, boy.” Copia sneered, kneeling down beside him on the tile, the mortal yelping in surprise as his temporary garment was quickly discarded and cold hands raked over his skin.

“ _Fuck_ … Yes, I do! Er…” Henrik closed his eyes as his losing battle with reason came to a violent end, Ghoulette's svelte form pressing up against him now, avidly twirling his hair in her claws. “I-I mean...” His hands instinctively sliding around her strong hips. “Just… I really need to fuck you.”

“That's my muffin!” Ghoulette giggled excitedly as Henrik all but pounced on her, his hands shaking violently as he attacked her tattooed flesh with his lips and tongue. She growled contentedly as he stroked her breasts. There was part of him that wanted to kiss her, but he quickly discarded the thought and yanked her panties down her legs with a snarl. 

“It would seem we are creating a monster…” The Cardinal laughed, lovingly running a hand down Henrik's back, admiring the color that began to bleed from underneath the man's pale skin. Black and red ink began to spread across his shoulderblades from the center of his spine, bold and curving lines taking the shape of feathers. The Cardinal could also see a similar transformation beginning in Henrik's face as he continued his assault on the most formidable members of his clergy, the wicked war paint of The Raven creeping onto his sharp features.

“You are utterly exquisite, my love…” Copia was at a loss for words, overcome by the beauty of the beast. 

Henrik paused and turned his head, brushing his lips against Copia's as his taloned fingers slid down his thighs, curling around the back of his knees and yanking him closer against the Cardinal. Air's long legs curled around his waist, dangerous hands still dancing through his long hair. He shuddered at their reverent touch, overwhelmed by the sensory overload of being trapped between these two alluring creatures. 

“Our Raven isn't such a timid one after all, isn't he?” Ghoulette purred slinkily beneath Henrik, eliciting a sharp growl of restraint as she teased him mercilessly, grinding her hips against his cock while her master continued to attack Henrik's neck from behind. This was all   
too fucking much, and yet he felt more alive than he ever had. 

The sound of massive black wings thundered in his ears even louder now, heavy bladed feathers slicing through heaven and the earth. Henrik heard the creature's call, a piercing screech that would have made the gods tremble from their thrones, and it was coming from inside of him.

“Now, our sweet and innocent little Henrik…” Copia hissed. “Show us what you really are…”

****

**To be continued….**


	4. Furia!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ritual begins, and a Raven is born...  
> [ TW - Cardinal Copia / Air Ghoulette / Henrik a.k.a The Raven for this chapter... ]
> 
> Resuming this work thanks to a few very kind requests to continue with more of this demonic debauchery. I am in DIRE need of a co-author, so plot suggestions and feedback would be amazing. 😍

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major warnings: M/M/F threesome, demonic transformations, blood and violence
> 
> Some of you wanted me to add more to this work, and while I had some apprehension given the consensual torture porn nature of some of my writing, I admit that I'm quite fond of this fic and my semi-original creation, The Raven... :)

**Furia!**

What would it take to push you to your breaking point? What madness exists that pulls the very fiber of reality out from beneath your feet, shattering your moral compass into a thousand glittering sins, making you question everything you ever knew? How would you know when you've gone too far, too deep within the embrace of the forest with the taste of blood on your lips. How could you possibly turn back to the tedium of life beyond the point of no return?

\- - -

These were questions Henrik asked himself from somewhere in the dreamy recesses of his mind, his nose and tongue overpowered by the sweet tang of the tall Ghoul woman. Her white, muscular legs twisting with thorned vines of ink were wrapped around his broad shoulders, clawed fingers furling in his mane of auburn curls as he worshipped her with his lips between her thighs.

“Ah, my darling Raven…” Cumulus rasped behind her steel mask, the ethereal crimson gloom that coiled through the tall windows glinting off the metallic surface as she threw her head back. “You're everything we ever hoped for and more…”

Henrik felt sleepy, perfectly content to ride the turbulent storm of a distant planet as his mind exploded in a supernova of blissful and unknown sensations, vision distorted in a kaleidoscope of so many colors. Her voice was was the perfect drug, smoky notes of music drifting along his skin in melodic waves, anaesthetic for the shift and crack of bones beneath his skin, the searing of pigment bleeding striations of war paint in his flesh forever. 

“I am pleased to see you and my lovely Ghoulette are getting along so well…” Henrik jumped a bit, having nearly forgotten about the Cardinal looming behind him lasciviously as he furiously ate out one of the most dangerous members of his clergy. “Oh, by all means, carry on… She tastes best with a nice Chianti.”

"Ah!" The Ghoulette gasped breathlessly. "Chianti tastes bitter and old, fuck you very much."

 

Henrik hesitated, despite being so oddly enthralled by the mysterious Copia shortly after his rough yet hospitable introduction to his world in the woods. Perhaps being pushed to his knees in front of the dark cleric and enjoying the experience for the moment hadn't helped his morbid fascination with the demon, either.

“Are you going to--?” Henrik gasped weakly before the Ghoulette hissed sharply and forced him back to work where only his tongue did the talking. He heard Copia chuckle as he curled his calloused fingers around the underside of the tall Ghoulette's thighs, eliciting a soft sigh against her as the Cardinal's weight was suddenly hard against them.

“What do you fucking think, sweetheart?” Copia roared with laughter as he delivered a sudden open palmed smack to Henrik's backside, one hard enough to leave a mark and turn his already rattled brains into a fucking pinball.

The young bassist was already in too much of a daze to realize what was happening to him, far beyond the brink of sanity and tightly sandwiched between a maniacal Cardinal and his masked accomplice. He whimpered softly, lifting his head for air with an ache in his jaw, and the tall and shapely Ghoulette reached out to lightly caress his wet lips with the curved tip of her clawed thumb. 

“Dearest Henrik,” She cooed, watching excitedly as the Cardinal's broad hand curled around the human’s pale throat from behind and squeezed ever so gently. “I can't wait to watch my Cardinal fucking tear you apart.”

This disconcerting yet oddly thrilling sensation of being choked was nothing compared to the violent splitting of his shoulder blades, the ragged tearing of flesh, his body reeling at the rapid generation of new bones formimg, growing jagged and spindly and sprouting inky black feathers. 

 

“What… What's happening to me?!” Henrik began, but his voice caught and a deep growl tore from his throat instead. He subconsciously dug his fingers into the Ghoulette's strong thighs, nails elongating and slicing deep into her tattooed flesh. Black ichor pooled at the wounds and she hissed in pain, yet continued to stroke his long hair with great affection.

“Just a beautiful metamorphosis…” Copia mused from behind Henrik, tilting his head back as a feathered limb snared in his direction. He idly touched a wing, dripping in viscous gore and still forming as they lurched from the once mortal's shuddering back. “Won't you let me take your mind off your suffering, dear pet?”

Henrik's pain would have exceeded any scientific realm of normal human endurance had he not already evolved eons ahead of his own species in a matter of minutes. He was hissing in agony, his canines elongating to curved points. The curved talons of his fingers dug deeper into the Ghoulette's thighs as he pulled her closer, leaning in to inspect her as his eyes shifted from azure blue to a vivid, shimmering gold.

The Raven breathed in her scent, cool wisps of spring carrying the floral notes of perennial blooms. She was utterly intoxicating, and he lunged, wrapping his newly inked arms around her. There was another, lurking just outside his periphery, and Henrik tilted his head, feeling Copia's cold lips brush his cheek.

“This is all your fault…” The Raven breathed, closing his eyes to let the metaphysical chains tighten around his willing neck. “You lured me here… back there… Whatever this fucked up world of yours is. You… You made me.”

“I did, dear Raven.” Copia growled, turning Henrik's face towards his before placing a gentle kiss on the newly born demon's parted lips. He grinned, brushing a hand lightly along the bloody feathers of the great black wings extending from Henrik's back. “And now we'll tame you.”

Before The Raven could so much as protest, the Cardinal shoved him back down on all fours in front of his masked associate, the cool and collected demeanor of a seasoned preacher all but evaporating in an instant. Copia's usually neatly slicked hair was now a flurry of black against his creased brow as he generously worked lube over his cock. He had only a small taste of this creature's alluring power, and now he was ready for the taking.

Somewhere deep within his dark and almost drunken daze, Henrik noted with some amusement the forced effort Copia made to be considerably more gentle than his homicidal pet clown and metallic side piece, though they all had tasted delicious in their own unique way despite their collective violent tendencies. 

Henrik purred against Air's pale breasts, her cold skin so soft against his, flushed and sticky with sweat and blood. He curled his tattooed limbs needfully around hers, the mere touch of hands in the auburn waves of his hair almost enough to make him come right there. He cried out in both surprise and agony when the clergyman clamped his strong claws over his hips and impaled him with a triumphant growl.

“Oh, yes… He is indeed a wild beast in need of vigorous training.” The Ghoulette sighed, gleefully watching the momentary conflict, pain and pleasure, strobing blue in Henrik's eyes before their color changed a second time: Blood red like the creature whose name they'd given him, furious and wild. The Raven snarled angrily, but he seemed anything but unwilling. 

Even Air felt afraid of him for a moment, those wicked teeth dragging along her exposed white neck just beneath the edge of her mask, and she could also sense he enjoyed her reaction. The Cardinal wasted no time in enforcing his ownership over The Raven, reaching over fluttering black wings to grab a handful of his wavy hair and pull him closer and fuck him harder, burying himself to the hilt with every snap of his hips.

“Never thought you'd have it in you, didn't you, my pet?” Copia hissed into Henrik's ear, leaning down to kiss his neck striated with fresh red ink. Even as a man of the pulpit in the shadow of a dark Pope, as charmingly eloquent as Copia was, there were few words that could desribe how it felt to have such dominance over something that could destroy even Lucifer Themself.

“No, never…” Henrik sighed in agreement, turning his head to nuzzle Copia's jaw. “You feel amazing…” The Cardinal obliged with a particularly violent thrust, eliciting a howl from The Raven, and he latched onto the Ghoulette for support. His mind briefly flashed to the clown, a literal snake of a man, and entertained the thought of snapping him in half for dragging him into this anteroom of hell.

“Oh, my darling Raven… This must be so overwhelming for you… The pain you feel must be so delicious...” Air cooed, wrapping her legs around his lean waist to further alleviate the shift wreaking havoc upon him. He snarled and took her without further question. Their three energies became intertwined, the Raven's power surging like ropes of red mist around the tangle of limbs. 

He felt their hands in his wings, Copia’s smoky growls behind him, Air's keening breaths beneath him, all ensconced by a canopy of ebony black feathers. They worshipped him like a god, a living sacrifice, and while he wasn't sure of their intentions for him after this initiation into omnipotence, he had never felt more wanted than he did now.

It just was all too much, how yet another humdrum day with its many first world stressers could have spiraled out of control in the most bizarre and exquisite way, a literal mindfuck! The explosive climax that tore through the Raven took hold of all three demons in tandum, a sound like the blood thirsty war cry of a giant winged predator escaping his lips before he collapsed.

Air sighed contentedly, basking in the afterglow before gently shoving Henrik's unconscious weight from her body. She was still shivering from his residual energy pulsing though her veins. His wings fluttered weakly on their own accord before slowly receding back into his body, slipping beneath his shoulder blades as if they were never there. The colorful, swirling ink remained stained on his skin, however.

“The transformation certainly takes its toll initially, especially when extreme measures are needed as a catalyst for the shift, but it will become easier for him with time…” Copia mused as he admired The Raven's profile against the tiled floor, already in dire need of another shower but beautiful nonetheless. “His strength is incredible, and his loyalty will only prove itself when his wrath is needed… ”

“He didn't really need much coercion.” Air snorted, tilting her head before dressing herself with the speed and precision of a trained killer. “He probably didn't even know he was a power bottom, with the way he melted in you and Johannes’ arms. This poor boy won't be sitting comfortably for a while… Might want to let me have him for a few nights.”

“Don't fight me, woman.” Copia purred, content to remain naked as he declined on top of a pile of his discarded vestments, smoking a cigarette he'd wrestled from the inside pocket. 

The heavy doors leading into the chapel of ritual swung upon with a rusty groan, and three Sisters entered to tend to Henrik, joined by another of the Nameless Ghouls.

“Ladies… and Water.” Copia nodded to the Ghoul as he exhaled the smoke through his nose in billowing rings. The masked demon returned the gesture of acknowledgement before regarding The Raven. “Would you be so kind as to escort our prestigious guest to the Church quarters? As you can see, he's quite exhausted.”

“Ah, how wonderful! I was so delighted when I caught wind that he played the bass, as well. Now I see you had to fuck him to near death before we could share a proper jam session!” He crossed his arms sternly.

“A necessary evil, I assure you. He'll be in fine playing form after some rest. We did kidnap the dear lad, after all.” Copia grinned as he said this.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions… Or someshit.” Air rolled her eyes, helping Water with The Raven and removing him from the chamber in a plume of dense mist.

Copia sat in silence for a moment, remembering how his older brother, Satan rest his putrid soul, had come into possession of the First of the entities, another like Henrik, though some time before he was lured to their realm by a well planned coincidence. The first of the Five had forgotten his identity from before, memories of his life gone forever, and Henrik would also forget his with time. There were three more of these creatures existing somewhere in the around the rift, and Copia had vowed to finish Emeritus III's work and retreive them. For now, more training would have to suffice for the Raven...

\----

_To be continued… ___

__[ Bitches i told you this was a weird one... As I mentioned in the notes, ! CONSTRUCTIVE!! plot suggestions and feedback are very welcome... >_>   
Thanks again to whispered_weavings for enjoying my verbal trash and offering to help proofread~. ]_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Introductory lyrics: MURDERER by Avatar


End file.
